Snippets From Kirkwall
by ArhenaRuetto
Summary: A growing collection of one-shots, written by yours truly.  Based mostly on a Rogue F!Hawke with various pairings, mostly Hawke/Fenris.  Rating is likely to change.
1. Not Dead

The tavern was quiet, thankfully. But it was rather late at night and those that were present seemed far too unstable in their intoxication to cause much of a racket. The smell still lingered, regrettably. Fenris approached the counter and placed a few silver upon its surface, nodding to the bartender in somber appreciation as he received a mug of ale. He approached an unoccupied table toward the back of the tavern, peering underneath it for any slumbering patrons. Content in its vacancy, Fenris seated himself and took a slow pull from his drink, eyes a bit distant.

Too many things were going through his head lately and the lure of a dulled mind was a bit too tempting to pass up. It had been a quiet year so far and that made it harder to live. He hadn't had the opportunity to cut through anyone in a few weeks. The less time he spent outside, the more the mansion felt like a cage. Not that it didn't feel that way a majority of the time. _She_ had always asked why he spent so much time there. It wasn't simply about not having elsewhere to live. Had he wished it, he could've made himself some kind of home in Lowtown by now.

He had not yet escaped, not truly. Even he knew this. It was a matter of time, that was all. Time and revenge.

"Why are you still wearing that?"

The question came unexpectedly and Fenris was a touch unnerved by the fact that he hadn't noticed Anders enter the tavern or wander over. Anders didn't speak to him often, if at all and it was rarely anything that wasn't exasperatingly preachy. The elf was usually quite quick to respond with a retort or a biting, sneering come-back, but this honest question was different. Anders was staring at the red sash tied around Fenris' wrist with an indiscernible expression, eyes intent and unblinking as they flickered up to Fenris' face. The elf was determined to keep his expression just as clear of emotion as he searched for an answer.

"I do not see why you should concern yourself with it." Anders' eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"It belongs to her, you shouldn't have taken it."

"She did not object."

"But did she truly give it to you?" A sneer made its way to Fenris' mouth as he caught the double meaning of the question. He took a liberal drink from his mug of ale, deliberately waiting to answer Anders' question at his leisure. Setting the mug back down, he turned his eyes to Anders'.

"Again, I do not see why you concern yourself. The matter lies between Hawke and myself, not you."

"There is nothing between you now; there hasn't been anything between you in two years, at the very least." Anders sat on the other side of the table from Fenris, still staring intrusively. "And yet she waits for you still and will continue to do so, I imagine." Fenris let his eyes drop from Anders' face to the sash around his wrist. Truly, he didn't know the meaning of it, or understand it. He wanted her, more than he wanted anything. But he wasn't truly free and he could not let her waste her time on a slave whose chains were broken only physically. There was no happiness for her there. He looked back at Anders and decided honesty was the best policy, even if he thought it none of the apostate's business.

"I do not have an answer for you. I would see her happy elsewhere, but it's up to her to find that happiness. I cannot force her to make decisions."

Anders ran his hand through his hair, expression softening, yet retaining its exasperation. His bangs fell into his eyes as he tipped his head forward, staring at the table.

"I would not have her risk herself so for a possessed apostate. And yet it is … difficult for me to see her as she is now. It's just her and that mabari holed up in her estate, alone."

For a fleeting moment, the slave and the apostate shared a kinship. As Fenris stared into his drink and Anders into the markings of the table, each held silent. It wasn't an awkward quiet, but a silent acknowledgement of how the both of them understood what the other was feeling. They had, at last, found some common ground. Fenris shook his head.

"It does not do to dwell on this. She will live her own life as she sees fit."

Anders pushed himself up from the table and shook his head.

"She is not living. She's just not dead." He gave Fenris a curt nod and turned away from the table, stalking out of the tavern quietly. For once, Fenris had to agree. Something needed to catch her attention, draw her out of the estate and distract her before she withered away in these quiet days.


	2. Alone

She had been here for days.

Or had she? It certainly felt like it. She hadn't eaten or slept. She had spent her time wrapped up in bed, holding still. Dominik was curled up with her. She never let the Mabari sleep on her bed. But these last few days had been a special occasion. With the hound curled up close, she felt less alone, but still numb. He was warm against her and she often buried her face in his fur. It helped keep the tears away. She hated crying.

How had it come to this? One by one, her family had disappeared. It had been a slow process that left her bewildered, lost, wondering how it all happened. Father first, Carver, Bethany, and then Mother. Her eyes shut tight and she forced their dead faces away, pushed them back, far back, deep into the recesses of her mind. Instead she conjured up their happy expressions. Father's eyes would crinkle around the edges when he laughed. And he did laugh at everything. Both Carver and Bethany's cheeks would dimple when they smiled. Mother's golden eyes would light up with each mischievous prank the younger two pulled. Her fondness for them seemed to come from their close resemblance with Father. Carver looked to be his spitting image, while Bethany had taken his eyes.

Renata looked most like mother. Perhaps that's why Father had taken to her so. She had Mother's full, auburn hair, high cheekbones and fathomless green eyes that looked as though they held worlds of knowledge and wisdom, even in infancy. But Father had always looked at her through rose-colored spectacles, as Mother liked to say.

Carver. He was as much a wild little boy as Bethany had been a dainty little girl. It was with a vague feeling of jealousy that Renata occasionally spotted Mother placing bows in Bethany's hair in the mornings, or lovingly, patiently washing mud from Carver's face in the evening before suppertime. It was that small sense of jealousy that had put such a rivalry between the boy and his older sister.

Bethany had been different. A glowing admiration always came from her, brown eyes large and gleaming with awe. Renata was untouchable, heroic, brave, and indestructible. So Bethany clung to her older sister both in times of fright and peace. When Mother wasn't there to comfort or soothe, it was Renata that took her place and with just as much love as any mother.

"_Tell me that one story, Sissie! The one where everyone is happy and lives nice together and the mages don't have to run from anybody."_

The loss she felt in the Deep Roads, coupled with the sense of utter failure, was more than Renata could handle. Even years later, she remembered in detail the feeling that overcame her when she turned to see Bethany look so pale, so fragile. The guilt she felt for Carver's death paled in comparison to this. She had brought Bethany down into the Deep Roads, determined in her hubris that she could keep her safe. She had always kept Bethany safe.

"_You need to keep Mother safe now. You're all she has left. Tell her I love her and I'll tell Carver all about how brave you were. And Father too."_

They were all together now. Without her. It wasn't fair.

The urge to cry seared through her, a lump forming in her throat, her nose tingling. She buried her face in Dominik's fur, hugging him close. The mabari stirred and licked her forehead, determined to be a comfort. She shuddered and shook and tried, vainly, to think of other things, or to think of nothing at all. It wasn't working and she swallowed as tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. She wouldn't see any of them again. It was with a final thought that she finally managed to calm herself, if only a little, and begin to drift off.

She was alone, and should get used to the feeling.


End file.
